Personal Narrative Mr.Boone

It is Eight A.M: Little feet are everywhere, clenching to hands attached to five feet giants. The feet are heading to the same destination, a large brick red building labeled P.S. 98. One can agree every little face was painted with fear. They were entering a new world, one they had never been to before. The feet entered inside, and walked to a big multi-colored door that was decorated by a WELCOME K-203! sign. This sign was familiar to me, because I had seen it a couple weeks before. When it is then time for the giants to leave, I watched in awe. Snot flew from noses, “Mommy NOs!” rang in unison and tears streamed down cheeks. They were terrified while I on the other hand, was anxious. I squeezed my giants hand, I knew she had to leave but I was not ready to let her out of my sight. We hugged and then watched her brown shoes walk to her very own classroom, class 4-505.My mother, Ms. Enrique was not only a teacher at P.S. 98, but she was my very first teacher. She embodied me with the passion to read and write, which then later became a gateway to creativity. Her dedication to my early learning granted a head start in my development, this head start put me above my peers and filled a sense of pride and confidence within. My mother helped build the mold of the person I am today.

One of my very first memorabilia’s I could remember receiving from my mother, was a black and white composition book. This book contained alphabet written in her neat almost godly-like hand writing to me. I wrote each letter under her own, and even though my A slanted, my F was timid. She smiled as if it were perfect. I adored this smile and it became one I wanted to put on her face every as much as I could. My composition book became a part of my family; it went everywhere that I did. Vowels now traveled with me to the zoo, on the bus and even when walking home with my mother from her summer job in the school cafeteria. She would sound out the vowel “AHHH” and then tell me words in the “A” family. “BAADDD , SAAAD” she would sound out. I would then continue where she left off and would take it into my own hands. “Is HAAAAD a word mommy?” I asked. “Yes” she replied. “Good Kayla.” This praise was something I wanted constantly and I would try to read everything in my sight for her praise. She then brought home flash cards and small picture books that she told me I would finish instantly. I loved to read, it was something that came naturally and easily to me, a gift I realized not to many of my peers had shared once I started school.

Being the only African-American in K-203 was quite difficult, not many talked to me and being an only child at home it was a hard thing dealing with, but I knew every day after lunch I would achieve the stage that I longed for. Mrs. Perkins would put up a word on the board, while her assistant Ms.Mercardo passed out large sheets of double lined paper. “Try and copy each letter in this word she would say”. I would do as told, “DONE!” I would say. I looked around watching the two teachers run around the room assisting kids who had trouble holding their pencil and writing the word. “Good Job Kayla” she would tell me, as I would smile from ear to ear as the star sticker laid on top of my proud piece. I was a star and at young, although I faced discrimination from my peers who would tell me differently, I had my mother and various teachers reminding me of this. It was then confirmed when I was awarded with having the top ELA reading and writing scores in school District Six.

My mother introducing me to reading and writing at an early age formed my passion for the two. Being so dedicated to being the best reader and writer allowed me to establish a sense of pride and confidence in the skill. If it was not for this confident I may have not be able to brush off the discrimination I received from my peers at such a young age. I am and will be forever grateful for my mother’s teachings.

ENGLISH GENRES : WOLF Professor Francis

WOLF

The sun shines through the blinds
Yet the heat does not warm me
My soul is wandering with an unconnected mind
Left in one big surreal, left cut open
Longing to feel

Moments are now temporary
Your smile is deranged
The face prominent in the pebbles in my head
Now turned to grain
I wait for you to walk in, to return the glow to my cheeks
Give the beat to my heart , the movement to my feet

I have hung you in my closet, then back on the shelf
I have thought of your demise, and claimed you for self.
Saying "we will come back", my tung speaks these lies , our future unfamiliar in your doe like brown eyes

I have killed you off and thus brought you to life
Worn the apron as your mother
And the veil as your wife
Gave the water as your coach
Instead you ripped my heart , drew a pin now wear it as a broach

Forcing myself to tell not a soul
My true feelings I put on hold
I regret to accept that our young love grew old
Until then , I will wait for my heart to mend
This dark shadow to move
This rainstorm to end
Not bitter from the absence of love
But more abandonment from a friend

My hands now are cold
My words lack feelings
I'm back to square one
While I wait for true healing once again solo

My lone wolf now revealing

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Explanation of Wolf.

I chose the style of confessional because I admired the way Sylvia Plath could so easily get her ideas on to the
paper without being judged. When people read the confessional I realized that she was able to speak to
the whole world. No one shunned her or said they couldn’t read this , everyone listened. She was then
able to find peace within herself. I wanted to create an art , similar to her. Which is why I created wolf.

Writing this poem was difficult because I had to bear my soul to the page. I also had to return to a place
I have not went to in a long time.